Cookin'
by Torby Tiptoe
Summary: Another set of three random scenarios, but these are all roughly themed around cooking.I enjoy writing these random scenarios. They're a bit too long to be considered drabbles I suppose. Rated T for mild language and 'adult themes' are mentioned. Enjoy!


The vegetables steamed as Hiroki poured them onto the sizzling hot frying pan. He stirred them around until they attained a crispier tone. As he turned off the flames and reached for a mitt to pick up the frying pan, Hiroki's wrist grazed the handle's searing edge. A rather intense scorching pang smothered his skin, and he stumbled to the kitchen floor, cursing. He quietly groaned as the burned spot on his wrist seemed to ache more with each passing second. Tears formed at the edges of Hiroki's eyelids, but he forcibly blinked them away and gritted his teeth at the sweltering burn. "MOTHER—"

Nowaki entered the apartment just in time to hear his lover bellow "FUCKER!" from inside the kitchen. He hurriedly locked the door and bolted to the kitchen. His lover knelt beside the stove, desperately sucking at his wrist, while a steaming pan of vegetables remained atop the stove. "Hiro-san…" he lowered to his lover's level. "What happened?"

Hiroki barely removed his wrist from his mouth. "Ice." He demanded. "Get me ice."

Nowaki sighed and complied with his lover's request. He returned to Hiroki's aid with a few ice cubes wrapped in a dampened cloth. "Here," he offered to Hiroki, who instantly accepted the wet garment and pressed it to his wrist. Once his lover was temporarily settled, Nowaki stood up and removed his scarf and coat. He glanced at the stove and again at Hiroki. "I assume that you burned yourself, Hiro-san?"

"NO!" Hiroki vehemently denied and pulled his hand away when Nowaki knelt down to inspect it. "I didn't…I had an accident, is all," he grumbled, finally letting Nowaki examine his singed wrist.

Nowaki remained silent at first, simply lifting up the ice and observing the spot on Hiroki's wrist that had started to slightly swell. "Well, since you don't want to get a big bruise or scar from your _accident_," Nowaki looked his lover in the eyes, "I suggest that you keep it moistened to keep the swelling down."

"I see," Hiroki mumbled. His cheeked reddened, due to Nowaki's calm reaction of his burn, and to the fact that he had stupidly burned himself in the first place.

"Don't worry, Hiro-san," Nowaki chuckled. "I shall be extremely vigilant and alert to make sure that your wound stays moistened and cool." He grinned at Hiroki, before discarding the iced cloth (by now, the ice cubes themselves had melted) and bringing his lover's scorched wrist to his mouth. Hiroki's cheeks themselves burned more than his injury, yet he did not protest as Nowaki eagerly sucked at his singed wrist.

And, hours later, Hiroki had to admit that his burn was only slight in size and swelling. _Baka Nowaki. _

—

"Hmm…" Usami gawked at the thermometer, perplexed, and then turned it upside down, and afterwards, right side up once more. "You definitely have a fever."

"Baka Usagi-san," Misaki muttered from underneath the countless comforters piled atop him. "You probably don't even know how to read one of those things."

Usami chose to ignore the insult and simply chucked the device behind him. "Just look at you! You're shivering, yet your forehead is burning! Your cheeks are the reddest I've seen them in awhile, and I haven't even made a sexual remark that usually makes you burn with embarrassment. Your nose is so plugged that it makes your voice sound terribly high pitched and feminine. Also—"

"OKAY!" Misaki huffed and buried himself underneath the blankets. "You've made it perfectly clear, Usagi-san…"

"See," Usami smirked. "You didn't need that useless piece of junk to know that you're sick. It's all about keen observation." He tapped his noggin three times to emphasize, however Misaki still remained hidden under the covers. After several moments of silence, Usami took pity on the boy.

"Well, it's obvious that you're not going to class today." He stated, trying to think of something to cheer his lover up. "Is…is there anything you want, or that I can get you, Misaki?"

Misaki reappeared from underneath his blankets and sighed. "Ah, Usagi-san, please don't feel compelled to wait on me and hand foot simply because I feel slightly under the weather." He paused to cough. "Just go about as you would if I was in school. Don't tend to me; I'll be fine."

That statement only provided Misaki with a solemn, dull expression from his lover. "Don't look at me like that!" Misaki pouted. "Just go and work on you current piece."

"Misaki," Usami patted the boy awkwardly, yet still lovingly, on the head. "It would make me very happy…" he hesitated upon ending his sentence, which prompted Misaki to sit up and await his reply. "…if you would cut the bullshit act and allow me to care for you. I really don't mind. In fact, I _want_ to take care of you."

Misaki reddened slightly, but chose not to respond, and sunk down into his comforters again. "Very well," Usami finally said. "I'll prepare some tea for you. Perhaps that'll make you feel better."

He retreated into the kitchen. Misaki expectantly listened to hear an explosion of some kind, and as seemingly always, a loud _crash_ sounded only moments later. Usami reappeared in the bedroom with a mischievous expression. "Hmm…" he chose the best way to word his excuse. "The tea didn't exactly work out, Misaki."

"Baka." Misaki grumbled, gathering his comforters and draping them around his lithe figure as he got out of bed. "You ought to be ashamed, making a sick person come out of bed to clean up your foolish messes." He grudgingly hobbled to the kitchen, blankets a tangle of blankets cascading behind him, similar to the flowing veil of a bride. Usami snickered at that thought.

"BAKA!" Misaki hollered from the kitchen. "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT YOU NEVER USE GLASS MUGS TO HOLD BOILING HOT DRINKS! THIS IS PATHETIC!"

"Gomenasai," Usami suddenly whispered from behind Misaki. He startled the boy, having seemed to appear magically inches away from him without a sound. "Now, you're sick, remember? So, you must get back to bed before you catch a cold." And with that, he tackled his lover, and dragged them both back into the bedroom and into the mess of covers.

—

Miyagi entered his apartment and was unsurprised to smell the familiar aroma of cabbage stir fry. He sighed and locked the door, quietly grumbling about how he didn't want to eat that godforsaken crap _again. _It wasn't that Miyagi disliked Shinobu's cabbage meals; he just tired from some form of cabbage almost every single day, at every single meal. And to top it off, Miyagi was already in a sour mood. It'd been one of those unbearably long days at work, and everything that happened was miserable. He was cranky, annoyed, and _definitely _not in the mood to eat cabbage.

In an attempt to keep from radiating his bad mood, Miyagi plastered a fake, but obviously unconvincing, smile to his face and entered the kitchen, where his lover stood at the stove, hands busy preparing dinner. "Tadaima," he quietly greeted.

Shinobu looked up. "Okairi," he replied mechanically. Miyagi kept silent, and headed to the refrigerator to retrieve a Sapporo. He opened the can and downed the beer in one gulp.

"You're certainly in a pleasant mood," Shinobu noted as his lover stiffly sat at the kitchen table, face hidden by the large newspaper he busied himself with.

"Hmm?" Miyagi barely acknowledged what his lover was saying. He was too worn out to care, either, and in no mood to deal with sarcasm.

"I _said,_" Shinobu huffed, "That you seem like you're in a great mood tonight."

Miyagi didn't reply and instead turned the newspaper page, pointedly ignoring his lover. Shinobu placed his plateful of cabbage stir fry before him and snatched the newspaper away. "It's rude to read at the kitchen table," he retorted, tossing Miyagi a pair of chopsticks. "Especially when you didn't do shit to help cook." It seemed apparent that Miyagi's bad mood had successfully radiated unto Shinobu.

"Sorry," Miyagi mumbled, taking in a mouth full of cabbage and discreetly making a face at it. Shinobu glowered at him from across the table. "I see you making whiny faces about my food," he stated. "If you don't like it, you can eat something else."

"Sorry," Miyagi mumbled a second time, making no attempt at an excuse.

Shinobu continued to glare at Miyagi, his cheeks flushed and his face in a pouted expression. "Look, I'm sorry if you had a bad day, but stop wallowing in self pity! I had to go to class too. I have a fuckton of homework, but I _still_ came all the way over here to surprise you with dinner. And what do I get? Not even a thank you! Nope, just you sulking and being a pain in the ass." Shinobu observed Miyagi's dull, unconcerned expression, and became even more angered. He stood up and put his hands on his hips. "You don't even have anything to say to me, after I say all that!" Miyagi's mouth slowly curled into a smirk. "Oh…so you think its funny, do you? Well, screw this, I'm leaving!"

Miyagi watched silently and amusedly as Shinobu dramatically gathered his belongings and slammed the door to the apartment closed. He could hear him stomping off down the outer hallway. Miyagi knew that he was currently being a dick, but suddenly, his day seemed to be a little better. _I'll have to call the brat to apologize tonight. _


End file.
